


Aerodynamic Qualities of the Uncommon Gunslinger

by leoandlancer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Shapeshifter, a daring rescue, cloak of feathers, strange oddities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 22:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17455280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoandlancer/pseuds/leoandlancer
Summary: McCree preforms a daring rescue to save Hanzo. Falling headlong out of a plane in flight is absolutely part of the plan.Written for the Strange Oddities zine.





	Aerodynamic Qualities of the Uncommon Gunslinger

 

Hanzo woke with a start. His most recent memories were a blur of increasingly desperate fighting, a hopeless pressure weighing him down, then horrible, heavy nothingness. But more important than the pain and fear; there was something else,  _ someone…  _

McCree had been there.

Hanzo opened his eyes, his body jerking bolt upright. Something warm and soft dropped into his lap in a heap.

“McCree!” Hanzo called. His voice bounced off metal walls in pitch darkness.

“I’m here.”

Hanzo slumped again, letting out a breath. 

There was the vibration of an engine in the freezing metal around him. An airplane, then—a carrier; he and McCree were being taken somewhere in a hurry.

“I’ve told Genji before, but by god,” McCree said, grunting with effort before Hanzo heard a lock break with a snap. “You’ve got one hell of a clan, Hanzo. You alright?” 

“Fine,” Hanzo replied, not actually sure if that was true. “Did they hurt you?” 

“Oh, I’m fine.” McCree sounded amiable, close on Hanzo’s left. “Say, Hanzo, I don’t mean to sound trivial at a time like this, but, you still have my serape?”

“You were wearing it when they…” Hanzo stopped himself before he said it: _ When they threw you down and knocked you out when you fought to reach me. _

“Yeah.” McCree’s voice was still amiable, but there was an edge to it Hanzo hadn’t heard before. “I put it over you.”

“Oh, then yes, I…” Hanzo broke off. His hands tangled into the warm, soft weight in his lap. McCree had given his serape to Hanzo in this cold, and gone without. “I have it.” 

“Oh, good. Hold on to that, would you, Hanzo? This might sound crazy but I think we should leave before they land and you’re forcibly reunited you with your clan’s elders.”

“Agreed.” Hanzo held McCree’s serape tight as he stood. How the hell could were they to get out of here? Highjacking?

“Glad to hear it. You got that serape, right Hanzo?”

“Yes.” Hanzo was trying to think of an escape and McCree was going on about his damn daily fashion. “I just told you…”

The sudden whine of hydraulics cut Hanzo off, and a bar of light split the darkness. Hanzo flinched from the sudden light. He barely caught a glimpse of a small cargo bay, McCree beside him with his fist on a red switch, and a widening panorama of clouds behind him. 

“Come on!” 

McCree’s hand closed on Hanzo’s wrist, tightened, then pulled. There was a moment of silent, weightless movement. 

Falling. Cold and breathless. McCree’s serape a bright red blaze in his hand.

Hanzo was almost entirely surrounded by empty blue sky. He was drifting through bright sunshine and sherbert coloured clouds while the ocean spread below him, broken by green islands. The wind howled in Hanzo’s ears. He and McCree tumbled wildly as the small plane sped away above them.

It was just possible, barely possible, that this would be a better way to die than whatever the Shimada clan had in mind. At least Hanzo would be in good company. McCree’s hand was still tight on his wrist and—Hanzo was jerked in close, pressed against McCree as they fell headlong. McCree took his serape back and, for a stark moment, Hanzo thought he saw a coat of bright feathers on the inside of the sun-stained fabric.

McCree planted his cold left hand against Hanzo’s chest and shoved him hard.

For the first time since his childhood, Hanzo’s grip broke from sheer shock. He tumbled back and away, turning head over tail for a sick second before he managed to find his balance and right himself.

McCree dropped gracelessly away, headfirst and heedless as he wound the serape around his neck until it was back in place over his shoulders. 

Hanzo saw him, stark and red and clear against the tilting background of clouds and ocean and distant green mountains. Then something changed about McCree, and Hanzo saw much, much more.

Vast wings opened so abruptly the force cracked in the air. McCree was gone, and an eagle with shining red feathers flapped once, twice, and then leveled out. 

Hanzo couldn’t breathe. The eagle was vast enough that it tore the clouds apart and left bright white ribbons of vapor racing over its wings. The huge bird shook its head, and Hanzo saw a curved beak, and a wide amber eye glinting up with predatory interest.

The bird tipped its wings, and suddenly Hanzo fell into the bird’s broad back with a little thump. Blindly, with the wind tearing at him, he reached under the long primary feathers until he could hold onto soft down and steady himself. He ducked his head down as he lay low, fighting for breath as he sheltered from the wind.

“McCree,” Hanzo said, so quietly he doubted the eagle could hear him.

He received a low, piping trill in response.

Hanzo tightened his grip as he felt powerful muscles shift beneath him. They glided out of low-hanging clouds and found green forests spread out below, no longer a range of mountainous islands in the distance. He watched tree tops glide by under the length of one huge wing, catching his breath and listening to the wind, feeling warm, feathery down between his fingers. Lying over the eagle’s shoulders like this, sheltered from the wind and blissfully warm, he noticed that each of the red feathers were edged in gold.

The eagle circled down over the ragged remains of an overgrown courtyard before back-winging, scattering leaves as they landed. It was a nice change from 15,000 feet above sea level with only one very terminal way down.

The eagle stooped forward carefully and lowered its head so Hanzo could slide off the side of his neck. He landed easily, but still put a hand out to steady himself, and found the warm smoothness of the eagle’s beak under his palm.

Hanzo backed away, looking up—way up—as the eagle straightened, settling one wing, and then the other. He stood tall in the courtyard, his head and shoulders clearing the trees so the sun shone on the golden tips of his feathers. He looked down at Hanzo with a bizarrely anxious expression in his bright amber eyes. 

“McCree,” Hanzo said, trying to keep his voice level.

The eagle fluffed the feathers out around his neck and down his chest, then settled again. An avian shrug. Then he bowed low, shut his eyes, and slowly drew the red and gold wings over his chest and shoulders. Hanzo blinked, then there was another instant of fractured perception in which two creatures overlapped. He watched as the eagle, tall as the forest, resplendent in red and gold, was also a man—his head bowed, hair windswept, wrapped in a sun-stained length of red and yellow cotton.

McCree looked up and found Hanzo staring at him.

The forest was dead silent around them. The wind barely whispered in the trees as they stood in the cool green shade of the neglected courtyard.

“Howdy,” McCree said, breaking the silence with the social grace of a rock dropped into a punch bowl.

“That was you,” Hanzo said, natural hauteur and a ruthlessly trained ability to keep himself in check only barely enough to contain the depth of his emotion. His legs felt oddly shaky, his breath still short, his heart was hammering, but they were alive.    
“Yeah, that was, ah…I mean, I’m me, it’s a sort of…You ever heard of a Roc?” McCree rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t have his hat and without it, Hanzo noticed McCree’s truly fascinating inability to manage a convincing poker face when he couldn’t hide under the brim.

“Roc,” Hanzo said flatly. 

“Legendary bird from antiquity.” McCree coughed, collected himself, and reluctantly pulled a fold of the serape from around his neck. Holding it out at arm’s length, it hung down from his arm exactly like a wing. “It’s a cloak of feathers. It’s got the shape inside it, remembers what I am for me when I’m just…” McCree gestured at himself. Human.

Hanzo looked at the serape. He could see feathers, dark red and glinting gold, but only just. He’d never noticed them before. Hanzo now had an acute, tangible memory of what that feather down felt like between his fingers. He realized he’d curled his hands into loose fists, seeking that remembered warmth. 

“I never told anyone, it’s not…I never needed to. Wanted to sometimes but…” McCree scuffed one boot back through the scrubby grass, looking like he might bolt. “I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“Can you turn into a Roc without it?” 

“No.” McCree wrapped the serape around himself again, tucking the feathered side into himself with a practiced familiarity. “I need it. Other folk get a hold of it and they get a hold over me.”

“You gave it to me.” Hanzo started towards McCree. “And you dropped us out of a plane.” Hanzo didn’t blink as he held McCree’s uneasy gaze and walked steadily forward. “You held onto me and trusted me not to let it go.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.” McCree moved automatically to tip a hat he wasn’t wearing.

“If I’d let it go, we’d be dead?” 

“Oh, yeah.” McCree nodded as Hanzo closed the distance between them. “Honestly it never occured to me. I knew you’d hold onto it. I knew I could catch you.”

“You knew?”

“Sure, didn’t you?” McCree paused. Then looked up into Hanzo’s eyes, frowning. “Sorry I pushed you away, the change can be unpredictable…I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Of course.” Hanzo stopped when he was close enough to touch McCree. “I assumed you would protect me whatever shape you were in.”

“Well, I…” McCree looked flustered for a second, and then Hanzo caught the red serape in a fist and pulled McCree hard enough they came together with a thump. 

“I thought they would kill you,” Hanzo spoke quietly into McCree’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. “When the Shimada Clan came for me, why did you let them take you, too?”

McCree didn’t answer, just hugged Hanzo back until he dropped his head forward and nuzzled against his hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, ’bout the feathers, ’bout the shape change.” McCree spoke very softly, right into Hanzo’s ear. “I thought you wouldn’t care for me, if you knew.”

“It changes nothing. But I’m glad I know, for what it’s worth.” Hanzo tipped his head, leaning a little more into McCree.

McCree was smiling, Hanzo could feel it where their cheeks touched, where he could feel the edge of McCree’s beard. “Hanzo, that’s worth a great deal to me.”

“You’re beautiful.” Hanzo thought of bright red feathers, gold-edged and gold-tipped and shining in the light—thought of the man before him now.

McCree didn’t reply, just let his breath out all at once, and held onto Hanzo a little tighter.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! I have a [Tumblr](http://leoandlancer.tumblr.com) if you have any questions, or want to stop by to say hey!  
> This was written as a contribution to the [Strange Oddites Zine](https://toashesfanzine.tumblr.com/)! Go check it out on Tumblr, there's a lot of gorgeous art and more awesome fics. It was amazing to work on this project, everyone was so wildly talented and made being a part of it so much fun, it was a really lovely experience.  
> Thank you for reading!


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